


the silver crown

by todreaminscarlet



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Almost Fluff, Gen, Golden Age (Narnia), sibling fic, world of narnia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:40:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7585621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todreaminscarlet/pseuds/todreaminscarlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a nighttime conversation between a king and a queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the silver crown

**Author's Note:**

> for the storiesfromthewardrobe "precious metals and stones" prompt

Susan halts outside her door and adjusts her robe on her shoulders before cautiously proceeding down the corridor, each footstep seeming to echo as she slinks through the darkened, deserted hall. She can only see faint shadows at the end of the hall where the moon streams through a small window onto the black stones below. 

 

She misses electricity. 

 

As Susan steps down the cold, stone stairs, she shivers after a yawn stretches her jaw fully open; she wishes she could collapse on her bed and fall into blissful sleep, but she can’t. The bed is much softer and the sheets much smoother than her bed in England, and it’s just too unfamiliar for her to be comfortable and so the sweet welcome of dreams remains elusive. 

 

She makes her way steadily down to the main floor of the caste, peering into shadows and darkness as she goes but unable to find another awakened soul. After ducking her head into different chambers, she arrives at the heavy doors guarding the entrance to the main hall, pulls them back with straining muscles, and slips inside the small crack that appears between the doors. 

 

The hall is as empty as the corridors without; the moon beams fall across the floor in white ribbons which illuminate the expanse with bright, shining light. The floor is painted with the multi-colored shadows of the stained glass lining the hall, hinting at the radiance which fills the air during the day. 

 

Her mind drifts back to the memory of their coronation only two weeks previous, and her lips curl in the memory of the splendor of that day—the crowds filling the castle, the warm pleasure of the Lion’s eyes, the delight of having all of her siblings beside her—if she squints, she can almost see it—the instruments in the corner, the dancing fauns and nymphs like a Titian come to life. Lucy laughing, Peter smiling, Edmund witty and eyes sparkling. 

 

She looks up again with open eyes, and as she makes her way closer to the thrones, she pauses when she finally sees that she is not alone in this giant, echoing chamber. 

 

“Edmund!” she says and stares at her little brother. He’s seated on his throne with his elbows on his knees, and he’s turning his crown over and over in his hands, his small fingers gently tracing the edges of polished silver, and as he does, the shining metal captures the few glimmering streaks of light and casts them again upon the ground, interrupting the darkened stone.

 

“It’s a crown,” he says simply after a long moment, and she tilts her head and stares at the top of his black, tousle-haired head.

 

It’s a beautiful crown in its own unique fashion, understated in its appearance--perfect for Edmund, really. Its silver simplicity is less radiant than Peter’s, the band smaller and more elegant with peaks that do not seem so high or sharp. An engraving encircles it with designs that seem like branches melding into a single tree. It is pure silver; there are no sapphires or rubies encrusted like there are on hers or the combination of metals like Lucy’s or the golden majesty of Peter’s. It is pure and simple and strong, with details clear only to a closer eye, shining and bright when any light falls on it, even the gentle, reflective white light of the moon.

 

“Yes,” she finally responds.

 

Edmund’s lips quirk up at the corners and he looks up at her. “How do I have a crown?” he asks.

 

Susan wonders what the others would say—if Peter would quip about Edmund being their brother, if Lucy would say something light about Aslan, if Mr. Beaver would mention the prophecy. She doesn’t know what they would say. She’s not sure what _Susan_ would say. Instead of speaking, she steps over to the arm of the throne and braces herself on it before twisting her legs over onto the chair and locking her toes under Edmund’s thigh.

 

Edmund’s head is ducked low again, the crown still throwing dancing patterns on the stones below. Susan rests an elbow on her leg and tucks her chin into her palm, but before she speaks, she looks up at the vaulted stone and glass above her then around at the hall which seem to extend for an eternity.

 

“How do any of us?” she finally says. “We’re four English schoolchildren in a land of talking animals, Edmund. Animals!”

 

The right side of Edmund’s lip begins to curl up into a delighted, unmistakable grin. “It is rather absurd, isn’t it?” he says.“There are centaurs here.”

 

“And fauns,” she laughs.

 

“And fauns,” he repeats and his face begins to fall.

 

Susan feels her chest begin to tighten and her eyes begin to dampen, but she pushes the grief down, down into her heart where it doesn’t feel so strong and where Edmund will never know. She leans down instead of crying and nudges him with her toes, “talking animals,” she says slowly, and Edmund smiles again.

 

He leans back against the other corner of the throne. “Can’t get past it, can you?” he asks, his face set in his boyish smirk.

 

“How can I? It’s bizarre!” she exclaims defensively.

 

“Bloody bizarre,” Edmund agrees.

 

She sniffs at him, mutters, “don’t swear, Edmund, honestly.”

 

“You sound like mum,” Ed says. They lapse into silence, and Susan thinks she hears the waves crashing into the cliffs below. “Do you think,” he says, “that we’ll ever see them again?”

 

Susan looks up at the windows, at the shining moon, thinks, feels the smoothness of her gown brush against her leg, and looks back at the crown still grasped in Edmund’s hand. She reaches down and takes it from his fingers. He lets her have it and she pulls it up to study it in detail. She gently twists it around so that she can stare at the engravings carefully carved into the metal and then sets it on Edmund’s wavy, messy hair.

 

She leans back to look at him, and his dark eyes meet her own. They’re older than they were before, still haunted by war, and she wonders if her own are the same. The anger is gone now, but it’s been exchanged with grief, and she wishes it could be replaced with joy.

 

“It fits you,” she tell him, and she means it. The silver contrasts with the dark of his hair, and it’s perhaps a bit too big, but her little brother will grow into it soon enough. _Will grow into it here in Narnia_ , she thinks.

 

She reaches down and tilts it on his head, gives him an angle that could be roguish if it wasn’t Edmund wearing it, and answers his question with the only answer she knows, “I don’t know, Ed.”

 

He nods briefly, jerkily, the crown slipping down closer to his right eye.

 

“I don’t know how to be a king,” he says and looks to meet her eyes again.

 

“I don’t know how to be a queen,” she says, and the room falls silent, with just the faint crashing waves as witness.

 

“How does one rule talking animals?” Edmund finally says and Susan starts in surprise before slowly grinning at the delighted spark in Ed’s eyes.

 

“I know,” she moans. “I can’t stop jumping every time one of them talks to me!”

 

Edmund bursts out laughing and leans down over his knees. She starts to laugh too, and after a moment, she is leaning over his shaking back, the pair of them dissolving into hysterics.

 

“I k..now…” Edmund sputters, “I watch you every day!” and Susan breaks into a fresh burst of laughter until tears start to come to her eyes.

 

They finally calm themselves down and Susan smiles to match Edmund’s delighted grin, and she smiles more to see the spark in his eye.

 

“Come on, brother mine,” she says and stands up and offers him a hand. Edmund pulls himself up and tucks her hand under his elbow. “Oo!” Susan nods, “I like this.”

 

“We are in a castle, milady,” Edmund responds and they begin to walk back to the doors. She reaches up when they arrive at the end of the hall and straightens the crown on his head.

 

The silver shines on his head and reflection seems to match the shine in his eyes. “It really does suit you,” she says, and he smiles.

 

“Good,” he says and pulls open the door and bows as she sweeps through. “Milady.”

 

“I think I prefer _Your Grace_ ,” Susan says.

 

Edmund rolls his eyes and offers his elbow again with a smirk. “Oh Your Grace, my dearest, eldest sister, Queen of Narnia, wouldest thou permit thy humble servant to escort you to your quarters?”

 

Susan bites her lip to stop the laughter and falls into a deep curtsy and accepts his arm. “Never stop that,” she finally says through her snickering, and he grins back at her.

 

They walk back in silence, but the halls seem less lonely, less large and overwhelming, and before she notices, they are back in their corridor and at her door.

 

“Goodnight, Edmund,” she says.

 

“Night Su,” he says and nods briefly and meets her eyes before walking away.

 

( _thank you_ unspoken but clearly seen, _you’re welcome, always, forever, little brother_ unsaid but filling the space between steps until Edmund cracks open his door and slips inside.)

 

As soon as his door shuts, Susan closes her own and stumbles over to the mattress that is too soft and the sheets that are too smooth, and she curls up under the blankets, and swiftly, gently falls fast asleep. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> never enough edmund and susan :) 
> 
> come find me on tumblr @adaperturamlibri


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